Deep Roots
by SEEKER-2000
Summary: One day, he was gone...and he stayed gone for a year. "What will happen must happen, has been building, and we are all moving at rapid speed to the inevitable collision." Spinelli centered with Jason, Sam, and Sonny in large focus. Very dark.
1. Prologue: Things We Lost in the Fire

**Deep Roots**

**Prologue: Things We Lost in the Fire**

The water ran like ice across her skin. She'd turned the knob of the shower blindly, not caring if it was hot or cold, but desperate for the renewing baptism the rushing water would offer. Her boots would be ruined, she knew. They were designer, ones she'd taken from the set of _Everyday Heroes_ and had conveniently forgotten to return when they fired her. Maxie would weep if she saw what Sam was putting them through, standing in the tub of some dank motel, letting a stream of water flood around them, over them. It was worth it, though.

He was heavier than he looked, Sam thought to herself, cradling the frighteningly pale figure of her friend as best she could. The water ran over his head, which she was careful to keep angled in such a way that he wouldn't drown, though his dead weight made it hard for her to maneuver. She had to drag him into the cramped space, he was completely out of it. The rush of water was making it harder to keep a grip on him, but Samantha held tight. The limp ragdoll in her arms still had a leg awkwardly draped over the edge of the tub. Water was pooling on the floor all around the bathroom.

"Come on," Sam shook him a little, willing him to wake up. She needed him conscious. Thin lifeless arms dangled by his side. But he was alive, she was sure, he had a pulse, he was breathing, but God, why wasn't he waking up?

A quick jerk, a gasp, followed by shudders as his muscles reacted to the cold water let Sam know her goal had been reached. She turned off the shower as soon as some indication of life was exhibited. Sliding down the wall of the tub, Sam rested in the puddles of water that remained, taking her ghost of a friend with her. His teeth were chattering but there was color in his face again.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just needed to wake you up," Sam murmured to him like she would a child. His hair was sopping wet now. The tendrils let loose large drops of water like tears as she pulled her fingers through them, trying to soothe his positively racing heart. His hair, one of his defining characteristics, seemed to be the only thing that was the same. A little longer perhaps, it needed a good trim. Sam fought back tears. This wasn't a moment to come undone, he needed her focused and sharp. But here he was alive and in her arms. Her heart was simultaneously swelling with happiness and breaking with sorrow.

"Where have you _been_?" Sam sputtered, her eyes blurring. He didn't answer her, staring out of bloodshot eyes at the tiled wall in a daze, one labored breath hissing out after another. He needed a doctor. Adjusting his weight, she tried to make him more comfortable as he lay listlessly in her arms. The two were cramped in this tub and Sam was definitely losing feeling in one of her legs, but she wasn't going to move him until she was positive he would stay conscious.

Tucking his head under her chin, Sam relished being this close to someone that just this morning she had assumed dead. So many people would be happy he was back, he was safe. This was a miracle, if such things could happen. Of course, if they could, they would only happen to someone as good as him. A radiated light always seemed to come from him, inspired by genuine goodwill for other people, people who had mourned him. Even with the tears creeping their way down her cheeks, Sam wanted to laugh. Eyes that had adjusted to the darkness wouldn't have to strain anymore, the light was back.

At least, Sam thought to herself as she examined him, she hoped it was. What had happened to him? What had she walked in on? The rush of adrenaline that had surged through her at seeing him collapse in spasms had set her into action so quickly that Sam was distracted from everything else. Shifting slightly, Sam pulled his left arm high above his head so that she could examine it closely. He protested, pulling against her he yanked his slick arm out of her grasp, clenching it defensively to his chest. Trembles raked through him still and that allowed Sam to take advantage of his weakness. Gently, Sam exposed the skin at the crook of his arm, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal purple splotches and lines. A warm heat burned in her chest, deep sorrow ablaze. Some dark thing was overtaking the light.

Surprised, Sam realized the leather belt was still looped around his forearm; it had managed to stay attached through their frenzied struggle to the shower. There was prominent wear on the loose end, small indentions still tattooed into the leather that Sam suspected were teeth marks. He was a pro at this and obviously knew exactly how to get the veins to stand at attention. The belt slipped easily off of him and Sam flung it on the floor where it lay like a dead snake.

She turned her attention back to her friend. Friend, Sam wondered, or stranger? He blinked dully, his breathing finally returning to a normal pace. Black circles heavily outlined the striking green color of his eyes, the only real color in his entire visage. He could have been a black and white photograph, the raven hair contrasting against white flesh, had it not been for the green eyes.

"You…you okay?" Sam murmured. Of course he wasn't okay, but she still had to ask. Things were very visibly not okay.

"Sleep," he croaked. "Just need to sleep."

"Oh no, buddy, you aren't sleeping…" Sam laughed darkly, as if she would let him sleep after seeing him have a seizure just moments ago.

"Fair Samantha assumes she knows better?" Spinelli groaned, wiping some water off of his face.

She was still Fair Samantha, after a year. That was a good sign. "Spinelli, I don't even know where to start…"

"Then don't," he spat, rolling the sleeve of his shirt back down, as if it was possible to simply pretend what was underneath had magically disappeared. His attempt at hiding the truth even after everything Sam had seen caused the first stirrings of anger in her.

"Where have you been?" Sam repeated the question again, this time with more emotion in her voice. "A year, Spinelli, a year! You just disappeared!"

"The Goddess is making the assumption that staying was within the Jackal's brief," Spinelli replied darkly.

"If you had a problem, you should have told one of us. No one would have judged you; we would have just wanted to help you."

"A problem, she calls it a problem. Oh, yes, The Jackal had a problem. Except the problem was that he was the problem. I have always been the problem. "

"I can't believe we didn't see this…how…"

"Samantha adds up the equation and comes up short,"

"We've got to get you help," Sam sighed.

"There is no help to be had when he finds there are things already set in motion and I cannot stop them, and neither can Fair Samantha. What will happen must happen, has been building, and we are all moving at rapid speed to the inevitable collision."

Digging in her pocket for her phone, Sam fervently hoped the impromptu shower hadn't ruined it. Spinelli made a motion to sit up but grabbed his head and quickly rested against her once more. Finally, Sam managed to pull her phone out. She flipped it open and saw that the device was glowing cheerfully, ready to assist. As she punched number one on her speed dial, Sam could already envision the overwhelming shock and relief that would come coursing over the earpiece as she informed him of her discovery.

"It's okay, Jason's going help us, all right?" Sam pressed the send call button, already relaxing a little at the idea of reinforcements. Jason would know what to do.

He moves so quickly it was a blur as the phone was ripped from her hands. One minute she was punching buttons and the next a pitiful crack rang through the tiled bathroom, plastic pieces rolling into the puddles of water on the floor. Sam was shocked. Spinelli was holding his head with both hands now, scooting away from her and before she could make a grab for him he was crawling jerkily out of the tub. He was dry heaving over the toilet as she sat in stunned silence. The phone lay in ruins on the floor, her friend was shattering in front of her eyes, and her heart was fractured at the sight of it all.

"Oh…okay…" She said slowly, hoisting herself out of the tub.

"No calls," he slumped over.

"Okay, no calls. No calls at all…" Sam mimicked stupidly.

"No one came for The Jackal then, why would they bother now that the damage is done?"

"Didn't come for you? We…we spent day and night trying to find you, Spinelli! No one let you go easily. I mean, it makes sense now why you left us, I guess--"

"Why I left?" Spinelli asked incredulously. "There was no choice…The Jackal was given no option, it was coercion of the darkest nature."

"You keep saying that, but, _God_, Spinelli of course there was a choice…I still have no idea how you could have hidden this," she gesticulated at him, at his arms, at the belt on the floor.

"It is of no consequence, now." Spinelli muttered. He stared fixedly at the dripping shower faucet as if mesmerized by the steady trickle.

_He spent the first month watching the leak in the ceiling getting larger and larger. They put a bucket underneath it to catch the falling water, and when it rained heavily it filled up passed the brim, spilling over into puddles that soaked the mildewed carpet, which smelled in the heat of the day. Spinelli could reach out his hand and graze his fingers over the water, causing tiny ripples to undulate across the surface. _

_W__hat started as a small stain in the ceiling developed into a dark rotting hole, and no one ever came to patch it up. _

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note: Welcome to my latest adventure. I hope you enjoy a dark tale inspired by a combination of the films _Taken _and_ Requiem for a Dream, _with additional thoughtfulness added by the television show_ Breaking Bad_****, all wonderful things you should see. This will be my first real action story as a twisted mystery unfolds with the hacker at the center of it all. I hope you enjoy the ride.**

**This story would not have been possible without Suerum, who has aided me beyond belief, making this story extensively better with her eye for evil. Thanks Sue! You're my fiction hero. If you aren't reading her vampire story Vacuus a Animus, you are missing out. **

**Next Chapter: One year ago. **


	2. Caught In Traffic

**Deep Roots**

**Chapter 1: Caught in Traffic**

(A/N) Flashbacks in italics

Anthony Zacchara had a heart attack and died.

It was as simple as that. Just as things were coming to a tense boiling point between all illicit organizations in Port Charles, the main issue simply kicked the bucket. He was not smothered in his sleep, shot by a sniper, or poisoned by his dinner. The old man died unexpectedly of "natural causes", leaving his enemies shocked at his unplanned departure. At first there was a sense of peace. Said peace was ironically disturbed by none other than the dictates of federal law enforcement.

Agent Raynor was adamant. There would be an arrest of a whale in the Port Charles mob ring, and Jason Morgan would hand deliver that person to the FBI. He dangled Spinelli's freedom in front of Jason like a pendulum that hypnotized him, bending the enforcer's mind just enough to consider alternative options that would counter balance the weight of one Anthony Zacharra-unfortunately, now deceased. Their intention was clear; they wanted Sonny Corinthos. Jason tried every evasive maneuver in the book-he stalled, he pleaded, he played nice, and he even, out of desperation, offered substitutes. Raynor would have none of it, he only smirked and shook his head at any frantic attempt of Jason's to put off the inevitable.

It was only a matter of time before Jason made his decision. Sonny had a sneaking suspicion that his old friend's vision of the future included him in a steel cage in place of the sniveling hacker whose insidious influence over Jason somehow made this a "complicated" choice. Years of loyalty, of being closer than blood had cracked and shattered somewhere along the line, Sonny and Jason were now only held together by the memory of such a link and not the connection itself. Somehow, their partnership which had always kept Sonny at the forefront of Jason's faithfulness had been traded in like it was last year's model and replaced with the somewhat more fuel efficient but ultimately puny replacement known by the idiotic title of the Jackal. Sonny scoffed, wishing this business was over already so he could be back in his home swirling a scotch in victory of a well developed plan. The audacity of even thinking that he would end up in the feds' net irked him. He wasn't going down like that, in place of some weirdo who couldn't even speak English properly.

The image of Spinelli stumbling through the universe causing nothing but confusion whilst he sat in prison, traded because of Jason's twisted sense of innocence made his blood boil. It didn't have to come to this, Sonny had made sure of that. He'd offered an opportunity that would fix things for all parties involved and Spinelli, fool that he was, turned him down. So, it was his own fault really. Just an hour earlier, Sonny ordered the hacker to meet him and proposed getting him a new identity with which to exit the country. Yet, the buffoon wouldn't dare do anything without either Jason's permission or knowledge.

Sonny remembered how the conversation had begun.

"_Now," he had started, eyeing the confused young man poised on the edge of his seat, "Jason has an issue." _

"_Issue, Mr. Sir?" Spinelli chirped, bringing his messenger bag in front of his chest. Pathetic. Didn't this kid understand nervous habits like that showed inherent weakness? Sonny had made a career of understanding that half the battle of power was all a show of appearing secure. Don't be someone that looks like he could be easily messed with and nine times out of ten people would tend to simply avoid the issue-the result of such a strategy being gain without much expenditure of effort. Then there were people like the hacker, oblivious to the vibes they gave off onto the world, unaware of their own self image. This ignorance separated the powerful from the trampled. _

"_I think you know what I'm talking about, Spinelli." _

"_Uh."_

_Sonny gripped his scotch. "The feds."_

"_Oh. Yes, that is a most grievous topic, of which Stone Cold has been keeping me in the dark." _

What was _that_? Grievous topics? He knew the word, he wasn't stupid, but Spinelli's insistence on showing off his vocabulary would not be missed by him at all. It was one god damned convoluted thing after another with this kid. Sonny spat out his suggestion for leaving the country as quickly as he could, hovering over Spinelli, waiting for him to seal his fate. It had been his assumption that Spinelli would see the logic, see how his worth could not compare to Sonny's in Jason's eyes. _True or not_…Sonny played on Spinelli's obvious self esteem issues to plainly paint that scenario for him.

"_You have to know this is hard on Jason…he doesn't want to send you to jail…"_

"_The Jackal hates the predicament his malfeasances_ _on the web have put his mentor in."_

"_Exactly, Spinelli…" Sonny grinned. Maybe plan B wouldn't be necessary after all. "So…make it easy on him…"_

And what did he do? The kid "most humbly declined" Sonny's offer. No, no, Spinelli couldn't possibly just leave the country without even speaking to Jason about it first, without saying some sort of goodbye. Well, that wasn't going to happen. Sonny was sure Jason wouldn't be too pleased about him interfering with the kid's future, Jason being so weirdly possessive of him, to the point that it was obviously blinding his logic. Sonny would never understand how Jason tolerated the mumbling idiot. Not only him, but others seemed to be entangled tightly within Spinelli's universe. It boggled Sonny's mind. Claudia was fond of him. He'd even seen Maxie Jones follow him around, which was stranger. How could it have possibly come about that a gorgeous young woman like that went around parading after Spinelli like he was somebody that mattered? Hell, his own father praised the hacker's ability to fix damned appliances like he was some gift from god.

"_Kid, you don't need Jason's permission to leave the country…come on…Make it easier on him…I'm offering you a ticket out of here tonight if you want it…Put this whole federal nightmare behind you, behind us, behind Jason-once and for all…"_

_Spinelli licked his lips, staring at Sonny as though really contemplating the offer. For a second, Sonny thought he would be able to forget about Plan B, probably the most brutal and unforgiving plan he'd ever thought up to save his own ass. If the kid just accepted his original offer, there would be no issue. This was his last opportunity to take control of his own destiny. Declining would mean that Sonny would have to take control of it for him…his future was intertwined now with the hacker's and Sonny was never the type of man to let others decide his fate. If sacrifices had to be made, they would be, just none that involved him._

"…_Mr. Sir…" Spinelli looked down at his hands with a note of apology is his voice, and Sonny knew Plan B would be needed after all. _

"Should've taken the deal, " Sonny thought to himself with the tiniest flicker of regret echoing down deep within his soul.

"Should The Jackal stand aside whilst Mr. Sir conducts his business?" Spinelli felt awkward, it was strange enough Sonny had wanted another meeting with him but now there were going to be third parties involved. It all felt off somehow but he couldn't quite put his finger on why he was nervous.

"…No…In fact…It's good you're here. Do you see those security cameras?" Sonny pointed up towards a pair of video cameras mounted on the building across the street. They moved in slow inescapable half circles as they monitored the comings and goings of anyone crossing their visual radius.

"Indeed, they seemed to be working in tandem as watchers for the adjoining grain warehouse." Spinelli's sense of unease escalated a notch.

"Think you can disable those?" Sonny felt a sense of pride, it wasn't often you could get a mouse to actually step into the trap before it was set. "Saved on cheese too," he thought to himself with an inward smile.

"Tis a simple assignment indeed, Mr. Sir. Do the ones we wait upon prefer their privacy, as it were?" He bit his lip, as he reluctantly pulled his lap top from its safe little nest within the messenger bag.

"Definitely." He was becoming impatient, he didn't want anything or anyone (Jason's face flashed across his mind and was gone) interfering with the implementation of this little idea of his.

"_The Jackal couldn't simply leave without communicating his intentions with Jason first, at least…" Spinelli was attempting to apologize for his rejection of Sonny's plan to resolve the mess within which they had all been engulfed. _

_Sonny cleared his throat, ignoring the itch tingling in his hand as he longed to smack the innocent look right off of Spinelli's face. "You're absolutely right…Come on…We'll go find Jason and talk to him together, okay? Time is of the essence." _

_Spinelli didn't budge. "N-now? Mr. Sir wishes to discuss this with Stone Cold today? Might The Jackal be allowed a minute to think abo--" _

"_Now I think is best, don't you? Quick action win the day…Come on." Sonny grinned at him with all his dimples fully engaged. _

"…_If Mr. Sir thinks such a meeting to be best…"_

"_Yeah…I think this is a real situation we need to discuss with all parties involved…Ah…" Sonny glanced at his watch for effect. "Gotta make a side trip first though. Let's go."_

"_Uhm…Okay…"_

"Clear day," Sonny mumbled. It was unusually mild that day, the blue sky completely cloudless, only the occasional plane streaking across the sky. The winter was not quite over yet but spring was close. The clarity of the day made Sonny wonder if perhaps things were on his side. A slight breeze traveled down the alleyway. Time passed as Spinelli clicked diligently away at his assigned task. Just as Sonny thought he would slip into quiet contemplation of a world without the Jackal, he heard the sound of grumbling gravel as a dark car approached and drove away all other thoughts except what was expedient to the moment. The vehicle slowed to a stop ten feet away. Spinelli shifted uncomfortably next to Sonny.

"You chose this," Sonny wanted to turn and say to him. He wasn't quite sure why his mind kept insisting on placing the blame on Spinelli. He didn't feel guilty about what was about to transpire. There would be Jason's mourning to deal with soon, and for that he did feel a little bad. Jason would miss the kid, feel guilty…Should've taken the deal…you chose this… He kept repeating that in his mind as three men stepped out of the vehicle, though it was clear that only one of them was the reason for the meeting,. The two groups began trudging towards one another, dust from the disturbed gravel floating delicately in the clear air.

"Corinthos." Paolo Santiago was a tall, distinguished gray haired man that could have just as easily been a lawyer or a doctor instead of who he actually was-the undisputed crime lord of the Venezuelan mafia.

"Santiago." Sonny shook his hand gravely, bowing his head slightly in a sign of respect for this man who was his equal in stature.

"Who is this little bird perched on our wire?" Santiago grazed Spinelli with his glance of mild curiosity, his eyes were gray and flint-like.

"Uh…" Spinelli found it hard enough to formulate coherent sentences in the presence of Mr. Sir with the addition of one more of his ilk into his proximity he was fundamentally speechless.

"He's my employee." Sonny actually shot a look of pride towards him that simultaneously flustered and elated the young hacker.

"What is he doing with the computer?" Santiago was not a mob boss known for his facility with or interest in modern communication and surveillance techniques.

"The Jackal is making sure that the cameras," Spinelli pointed across the street towards the offending sentinels, "Will have no knowledge of this encounter, as requested by Mr. Sir." With the surprising bestowment of Sonny's approbation he had found the courage to speak up in front of the visiting Mafioso.

"Who is the Jackal?" It was the most interested in him Santiago had been since he had arrived at the warehouse.

"I am…sir." Spinelli swallowed uncertainly, sometimes he forgot how peculiar outsiders found his use of nicknames.

"It doesn't matter, Santiago. The kid is a computer genius, all weirdness aside." Sonny sighed internally, somehow the kid always managed to find a way to embarrass him.

"And…he is disengaging the video footage…" Santiago approved of the concept. Caracas was an eyes only type city and he knew well how to control and neutralize any unfriendly sightings. These sleek, silent cameras were another matter all together and he was very grateful that Sonny was making sure they wouldn't cause either of them any problems.

"Si, Santiago. There will be no record of this encounter, as is best for all…Don't you think?" Now Sonny was looking Paolo directly in the eyes while he subtly inclined his head towards an oblivious Spinelli.

"But…he is the one erasing the video…" Santiago started to say before he realized he shouldn't. Internally he marveled at the deviousness of Sonny's plan and the way that he was actually utilizing the young man's skills in their plan to ensnare him.

"Spinelli is a talented guy," Sonny laughed easily. "He's an investment for any business. You ask him to do it and whatever it is he finds a way." He could say that easily enough, after all it was the truth. He just didn't want him up in his business anymore and more importantly, he definitely didn't want him around Jason.

"I…see…"

"Success!" Spinelli spontaneously erupted, bouncing slightly at his most recent victory. "The cameras have ceased functioning, Mr. Sir."

"That's real good, Spinelli." Sonny smirked.

"I suppose we should head out, then, Corinthos."

"…Well this meeting has been most brief…"

"Thank you for this, Santiago. My associate, Morgan, will appreciate this as well."

"Stone Cold?" Spinelli was suddenly on full alert at the unexpected mention of his mentor's name. All the fears, the anxiety, even the sensation of paranoia he had been fighting against for the last half hour came rushing back in full force.

A quick nod from Santiago to his men was all the warning Spinelli got. They were on him, his laptop sent crashing to the ground, pulling and pressing in on him so quickly that Spinelli couldn't even register if he was up or down. He tried to yell, but as soon as his mouth opened it was stuffed with a cloth. Choking on the fabric tangling around his tongue, Spinelli's eyes searched for an explanation and found nothing but the glare of Sonny Corinthos staring back at him. The man made no movement to help him, not a single note of confusion registered on his face. In one devastating moment of clarity, Spinelli realized Jason's old friend was going to stand back and watch the struggle, and in that moment bewilderment begat panic and hysterics. His feet barely grazed the ground, the arms of one of the men wrapped around him tightly. Thrashing, he pulled a muscle in his abdomen, but ignored the pain and tried to free himself from a grip that seemed to only grow stronger.

Someone was tugging up the sleeve of his shirt, but when he tried to look and see what was going on he felt his head whipped backwards and locked in place. There seemed to be a thousand hands pinning him down, restraining and touching and gripping. He wanted them off! Above him, the blue sky of a unexpectedly balmy day brought irony to the darkness on the ground. There was a pinching in his arm like a bee sting and Spinelli thought his blood was burning beneath his skin. A horrible though raced across his mind, realization that they had injected him with something, and Spinelli wondered if this was the last moment of his life, some lethal poison about to slowly channel through his veins and bring his short and sad existence to an end.

Moaning softly, Spinelli felt his eyes burning with tears and anger, knowing this was the last thing he would experience. He had planned to pick up some Kelly's take out and split it with Maxie for dinner, had papers that needed to be downloaded for Jason, had a life and things and expectations and people who suddenly were all very much off limits.

When his breathing began to slow, Spinelli realized it didn't matter how much he didn't want to go, death was swiftly flowing through his veins and was already quelling his natural instincts of panic and alarm. He wondered how long the soul lingered once the heart stopped beating, if he would feel the shift from this world to the next. Distantly, he recognized the hands were lowering him back to the ground, but his legs wouldn't hold him steady. He was a lump on the ground in seconds, kneeling in the gravel. Spinelli's eyes raked over small pebbles as if they could explain to him what was happening to his body. If this was death, it was numbing.

There was a ripping noise that made his senses tingle, setting off alarm bells that his hell wasn't quiet over, but Spinelli was too fascinated with the way his world seemed to be moving just slightly to the left to do much of anything about it. Someone's hand came into focus, removing the cloth from his mouth. At first Spinelli thought he could rejoice, that choking feeling was gone, but it was soon replaced by a suffocating sensation as thick grey tape was stuck onto his face, covering his mouth but thankfully not his nose.

"That must have been the ripping noise," he thought dimly.

Both hands were brought behind his back, but this time Spinelli made no move to fight as additional tape was wrapped around them. As his mind started dragging, only one thought was loudly screaming through his head. "Why?" He lifted his head slowly, trailing his eyes up over the perfectly shined shoes and custom fitted suit of the only person in the vicinity that was not a stranger to him. Sonny's black stare looked down at him. He was entirely unreadable, blank. He let his apathetic gaze fall back to the ground where it settled on his only friend that bore witness to the crime, his trusty laptop, which was lying a few feet away covered in dust. An irrational protectiveness surged through him. "What would happen to his trusted companion? "

His question was soon answered as Sonny stooped over and picked it up, weighing it in his hands. The mob boss paused, and Spinelli burned with rage, wanting to strike out at the foul creature touching his laptop after doing this horrible thing to him. Even though the urge to close his eyes and slip sideways was strong, Spinelli couldn't take his eyes away from the man who stood by and let this happen…made it happen…

"…Lookin at this?" Sonny spat. "Don't worry…I got it." He waved it carelessly in front of Spinelli's face.

Spinelli's growl of hate was muffled and pathetic.

Sonny shrugged at him. "…Sorry Jackal…Jason had a problem he couldn't kill."

Then he raised the laptop and brought it across Spinelli's head, and the urge to sleep was now a reality as the world went black.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews from the last chapter. I do apologize for not responding to them, things got SO crazy in my life. I promise though you will hear from me if you review this chapter.

Next Chapter: Spinelli's long journey.


	3. The Best Part of Believe is the Lie

**Deep Roots**

The Best Part of Be**lie**ve is the Lie

Entering the dimly lit penthouse, Jason threw his keys in the small bowl on the desk and began hanging up his leather jacket. It took him a moment to realize something was strange. It was a subtle thing that caught his attention—the complete absence of noise in the living room. Wednesday nights _Lost _came on, and Spinelli usually was propped up on the couch with a complicated spread of soda, chips, and whatever other junk food he had come across in his daily journey, indulging in the program with rapture. Jason looked at his watch. The show was supposed to be on in 15 minutes and the hacker was nowhere in sight. When Jason asked Spinelli once what was so special about the show that it required almost a religious diligence on his part, Spinelli had simply looked at him.

"It's _Lost_, Stone Cold," had been his reply. It was his ritual every week, something not even Maxie Jones seemed to have any sway over when it came to Spinelli viewing the program. In fact, she had watched it with him a few times, and Jason was confused as to why he wasn't stumbling over her stilettos in his floor. It was just weird, a Wednesday night with no Spinelli waiting with baited breath for the opening scenes to blow his mind.

Looking around the room, Jason spotted one of Spinelli's hoodies thrown haphazardly across the back of the desk chair. The kid needed to learn how to hang up his damn stuff. He sighed. Maybe Spinelli had chosen to watch the show at Maxie's apartment tonight. Heading upstairs, Jason noticed light coming through the bottom of Spinelli's door. So, he was holed up in his room. Maybe there wasn't a new episode tonight. One mystery solved.

Just as he was going to knock and ask Spinelli why his evening plans had changed, Jason's phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and saw the Caller I.D.

"Carly, what's wrong?" Jason headed across the hall to his own bedroom. What new disaster could she have gotten herself into this time?

* * *

The sun must have slipped down from the atmosphere and gently placed itself inside of his chest; its warmth stretched through his veins and cells and particles. Spinelli felt yellow-orange perfection on the tip of his tongue, in the corners of his eyes, at the tips of his fingers. Something was carrying him, or perhaps he was only being cradled by the sun. He was secure and beloved in whatever grip held him now, silk softness wrapped around his wrists.

Spinelli blearily opened his eyes and spotted shapes moving, but the sunshine wasn't bright enough inside his mind to let him really see.

"Greetings, all…" Spinelli muttered, the words tingling in his throat.

The shapes morphed and moved in response to his words. They spoke to each other in a hot fury, speaking phrases he did not know, or perhaps just could not understand in the midst of the sunset in his ears. Instincts that were not quite quelled made Spinelli brace himself as if dangers were nearby, but he did not understand the fear. The warmth was so comforting, what could be so bad?

A form drew nearer; faceless and nonthreatening. Spinelli smiled at the shadow. "Hello." Was this who he could thank for the tender fire?

Something less pleasant, a twinge in his arm, and then the sun shone brighter.

* * *

Daybreak flitted through the cracks of Jason's bedroom window and hit his eyelids, the warmth agitating enough to wake him. He groggily looked around his quiet fortress before settling his gaze on the digital clock on the small bedside stand. It was just six-thirty. Jason sighed and tried without avail to go back to sleep before dragging himself out of bed to begin his day. He threw on a clean shirt and pants, laced up his boots, and treaded out into the hallway with the intent of partaking in the best cup of coffee he could manage at such a cruel hour.

Just as he was passing Spinelli's bedroom, he registered that the light he had seen streaming underneath the hacker's doorway the night before was still on. In Spinelli's world, six-thirty AM simply did not exist, so it was a complete mystery to Jason why in the world his friend would be awake at that time. Jason weighed the pros and cons of getting ensnared in a complicated Jackal debate so early but decided it was too out of character to ignore for Spinelli to be up and about at this hour.

He tapped lightly on the woodwork. "Spinelli?"

Jason waited a minute before knocking again, waiting for a reply the typical enthusiastic response Spinelli would give at being summoned by him. There was still no response. Knocking once more, loudly, Jason turned the doorknob to Spinelli's room and braced himself to walk into any number of awkward circumstances ranging from a guilty looking blonde scantily clad or Spinelli sprawled out practicing some sort of Eastern stretching. It surprised Jason when he found neither scenario, nor any other, waiting for him as he swung the bedroom door open.

Only a junk filled room with regrettably pink walls greeted him, it's occupant absent. The lighting fixture in the center of the room glowed in a most innocent way, and Jason's instincts began quietly murmuring to him. _Spinelli hadn't been home that night. _Well, that was no big deal, he was probably with Maxie. He glanced down at his watch. Oh, right, it was pretty damn early. It would probably be better to wait an hour before calling Spinelli. First, a cup of coffee to kill the time.

Jason pushed his whispering instincts to the back of his mind, instincts that were gently reminding him that his Zen preaching, nature loving, go-green conservationist roommate would never, ever, leave a room without turning off all the lights.

* * *

Spinelli felt a gentle tug on his bottom lip, a coarse hand maneuvering his jaw open. He opened his heavy eyes and stared dully at the annoying fiend who interrupted his apathetic worship. Rough looking hands were in his immediate vision, gripping a small chipped coffee mug close to his lips. Spinelli was urged to drink, and his thirst was intense. There was water in the mug, stale and warm, but he gulped it down anyways. He tried to do two things at once, drink the water and look into the face of whoever was helping him, but he simply couldn't keep his eyes focused. The orb of warmth wasn't strong anymore, but he still could feel a slight balmy breeze drifting through his veins. It was pleasant enough, but a voice in the back of Spinelli's mind told him it was important that he try to pay attention.

Much too soon, the mug of water was empty. "More?" he begged blindly, but no one answered him. Spinelli cracked open one eye, finding it much easier to see that way. The rough handed figure with the mug was backing away from him, going to stand with a shorter man a few feet away. Spinelli watched them both quietly, not understanding what he was doing there. Where was Jason? Wasn't he supposed to meet with Jason? Everything felt so numb and…dissolved…Had he been in an accident?

"What…" he managed to begin, but couldn't finish his thought. The two men ignored him and spoke to one another in low voices, speaking a language he didn't know. The man who had given him the mug of water started doing something with a lighter. Spinelli's eyelid shut again, unable to keep focus any longer. He listened to their voices and was almost lulled to sleep by the repetitive cadence of their speech. However, just as a grey fog of sleep slipped through his mind, Spinelli felt something being stuck to his face. Heart pounding, Spinelli realized that thick tape had been pressed tightly over his mouth. Sobering up quickly, his eyes flew open in panic. The black gaze of the other man, the one who had stood back, glared darkly into Spinelli's eyes.

"Mmphh." Spinelli's words of fear were muffled by the tape. His breathing started going rapid pace. Spinelli might not know what was going on, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing, good about someone trying to muffle your cries. Someone had to help him. Jason, Sam, someone had to find him. Maxie, where was she? Weren't they supposed to do something that evening, like every other evening? Faces of people Spinelli knew raced across his mind, and he was pretty damn sure the two men in front of him weren't in either the "friend" or "foe" categories of his acquaintances. No, they were "strangers", and more importantly they were strangers with ill intent. Spinelli made a motion to move, to struggle, whatever he had to do, but the signals for escape and evade weren't sent to his appendages. All he felt was a surge of horror through his muscles, but they wouldn't act.

The black eyes rolled in their sockets, annoyed with Spinelli's sudden clarity. Behind him, the other man, the one who had just been giving Spinelli water, was dragging a wooden crate loudly into view. He pried the lid of the crate off with a crowbar and tossed it to the side haphazardly, throw a quick word over his shoulder. Spinelli's heart sank, frightened of what was inside the barred enclosure. Before he could contemplate what new darkness awaited him with the arrival of the mysterious crate, the black eyed man was tugging on his arm. Spinelli looked down at his appendage just in time to see a needle sink beneath his flesh at the crook of his arm.

That did it. He surged with energy, kicking his legs out, trying to jerk away from the grip of this disgusting thing. The dark eyed man howled, slamming Spinelli's head backward against the wall. He saw stars and slumped over, watching as the man pressed the plunger down. The liquid inside slipped beneath the surface of Spinelli's skin, burning in his veins.

It wasn't long before Spinelli felt the dull buzzing in his veins slowly intensify into a generous warmth directed at his center. Both men lifted him from the ground and drug him to the crate. He couldn't focus much anymore, but the fear of what was residing within the confines of the wooden box tickled his mind.

As he was brought closer, Spinelli realized what was inside the crate…Nothing. It was absolutely empty.

* * *

Sonny had been anticipating this interaction. He'd been enjoying a steady supply of soothing scotch all day in preparation for the encounter, in fact. It was inevitable, and it played out exactly as Sonny knew it would. All the proper lines were spoken, the blocking of the scene was superb, a standing ovation was deserved really.

Act One…Enter Jason, with his concerned eyes, asking if Sonny had seen Spinelli. Sonny had gracefully replied in the negative and asked what was wrong. Why did his dear friend seem so concerned? Jason quickly muttered his lines, using only a small piece of the stage for his part of the scene.

Sonny took the opportunity to be more dramatic, swilling his scotch in one hand, the perfect prop in his opinion. Spinelli? Seen him? Nah…Kid doesn't come around here too often, Jason, you know that. What are you so worried about, does he always check in with you? When Jason and the invisible audience realized that Sonny simply had no information for him, there was dark acceptance on Jason's part.

Like all great theater performances, a ringing cell phone almost ruined the entire thing. Sonny admitted he had anticipated all possible scenarios for this discussion, but a cell phone interrupting the climax of the story must have been only in the director's cut.

Time for a little improvisation. Sonny held up a finger to Jason, needing a moment to answer the phone ringing in his pocket. Jason sighed heavily but nodded, allowing for a little soliloquy on Sonny's part.

"Corinthos," he spoke quietly into the phone.

"Your package is prepped and ready for shipment," a thick accented voice darkly replied him.

Sonny swallowed, wondering if this was where a bit of Shakespearean fate took a hold of his story. Jason watched him impatiently from across the room. He rolled his eyes at Jason, implying the call was no big deal.

"Then the shipment should be on its way," Sonny quipped. Nothing too important in that statement.

"No change of plans then, Corinthos? All sales are final."

"None, whatsoever."

With that, Sonny shut the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, turning his attention back to the drama at hand. Jason was shaking his head and looking off into space.

"It's just not like him to not be in contact with anyone…" Jason shrugged, backing towards the door to leave.

"If I hear anything, I'll let you know," Sonny took another swig of his scotch, giving Jason a friendly nod.

End scene, standing ovation, roses thrown to the stage. Encore, encore.

* * *

The wood, with its tiny splinters, pressed into his face painfully. Sticky sweat dripped down his scalp, running over his nose and eyes, burning the irritated flesh of his cheeks where the side of the crate insisted on making an already terrible situation that much worse. Every slight shift of his head caused the wood to scrape from his temple to his chin. Spinelli tried not to move, but he was struggling to breathe with the tape over his mouth. Even worse, he'd been packaged in the wooden prison in a contorted fetal position, his knees drawn up to his chest, making it hard to expand his lungs. It wouldn't be so bad like that had Spinelli been able to shift his arms, but they were literally stuck to one side of his head where the tape had unraveled and fastened to his hair. He didn't have the energy to tear the tape away and knew even if he could a large portion of his hair would rip out with it.

The floor beneath him vibrated steadily like an engine or some sort of motor was close by. Dimly, Spinelli speculated he was being transported like cargo, a mean delivery, crammed into a wooden crate without even the luxury of packing peanuts for comfort. Sonny, his mind lit up in fury. Blinking rapidly, Spinelli tried to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids drooped shut. Taking a single painful breath, he channeled the rage he felt against Sonny to focus on spying through the small slit in the crate. The endeavor wasn't worth the energy; he couldn't even see that much light through the crack. Spinelli was properly caged and tethered.

"Don't worry," a sharp, clear voice that wasn't quite his own spoke inside his head. "Jason will find out, he will know you are in trouble, and he will find you."

Yes, that's what Spinelli had to keep telling himself. Jason could find anyone. Spinelli knew that. All he had to do was ask around or look at some security footage. "Oh god," Spinelli's heart sank. The security footage wouldn't be there. Sonny had asked him to disable the cameras and he had obliged him, eager to please the man who always had a short temper with him. Sonny probably found it hilarious to have Spinelli destroy the evidence necessary to find him. Besides, the only person who knew how to get hack such information was pressed into the corners of a wooden confine.

Bile rose in his throat. Spinelli tried to swallow it back but he couldn't and he began choking. The tape over his mouth made it impossible for him cough or breathe properly. He was going to suffocate on his own vomit inside a wooden crate and be dead before anyone got the chance to save him. Spots appeared in front of his eyes. Surely someone could hear him struggling, anyone, even the dark eyed man from before. Spinelli wasn't ready to die, not here, not like this. Struggling inside his confines, Spinelli tried to kick the side of the crate or make some sort of commotion, but his energy was miniscule.

Light flooded the crate. The lid had been roughly lifted off. For a moment, Spinelli thought maybe his prayers had been answered and Jason had found him like he found every other person who needed him in times of trouble. His eyes adjusted enough to see a hand reaching down. He was lifted up, and someone was tugging the tape off of his mouth. He could breathe finally, and choke appropriately. The person who had dug him out of the crate swatted him on the back a few times, helping him get through the fit he was having.

"Lo siento, amigo," the person said quietly to him, and Spinelli despaired that it was not the voice of Jason or someone he knew that was greeting him. Something salty reached the edges of his lips and Spinelli realized he had been crying without realizing it. The man lowered him back into the crate gently. Spinelli tried to protest but couldn't form the words. After all that, the choking fit, this person was going to put him back inside the wooden prison? Would no one help?

He got his answer when the man quickly pressed an injection into Spinelli's arm, then replaced the lid of the crate.

* * *

The night was coming fast, and Jason's fears were growing even faster. There were certain things you learned when you befriended a person—their habits, traits, personality flaws and quirks. Quirks Spinelli had plenty of, as well as habits and traits and flaws. One thing Jason knew was that it was not a good sign that the entire day had passed without him hearing from the young hacker.

Speeding down the back road, Jason drove his bike down a detour to the overpass. Spinelli had mentioned going up there to think every now and then, and it was the last place Jason new to check. Though he first suspected Maxie Jones might hold the key to Spinelli's whereabouts, it turned out she hadn't heard from him either and in fact was quite startled that Jason couldn't locate him. Through a lot of deduction on Jason's part with some assistance from Maxie, Jason realized that no one had heard from or seen Spinelli since breakfast the day before, and only then it was in passing. Jason remembered bustling past the kitchen and spotting the back of Spinelli's as he poured milk into some cereal just as he was headed out the door.

It didn't bode well, Jason thought to himself as the overpass came swiftly into view. Jason squinted, trying to see if he could spot a small figure leaning against the metal railing, but there was no one, not even a hopeful mirage.

He slowed his bike to a stop and paused for a moment to think and regroup. This had been his last idea, and it led him nowhere. No calls, no threats. The feds hadn't arrested him, Mike hadn't served him lunch, Kate hadn't kicked him out of the Crimson offices. Jason had even tried Sonny, knowing the last place Spinelli would be if he had the choice would be anywhere near the Corinthos compound. It was freezing out today, contrasting with the mild weather of yesterday, but Jason even noted that Spinelli's heavy jacket was still on the hanger in the penthouse closet.

Stranger even was that Spinelli's messenger bag was tossed haphazardly next to his bed. Only one of his laptops was gone, but the messenger bag that always clung to its owner's frame was left behind, as if Spinelli had hurried off without much thought. That would explain the light bulb being left on in his bedroom. But where would Spinelli bustle off to?

Jason leaned just sat there on his bike for a moment trying to ignore the sickening feeling of dread building inside of him. He had a terrible suspicion the hacker had been lured away on false pretenses. By whom and for what reason, Jason couldn't say just yet, but the horrible thought couldn't be silenced. It was beginning to look as though Jason's chosen career path might have affected another person he cared about.

Gazing out across the overpass, he could see small lights out on the edge of the sea horizon. A small freighter crept along the water in the distance. Jason watched it mutely before revving his bike back to life, soaring again along the long dark stretch of road.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the next chapter, the next part of the story is much darker. Please be prepared. Questions & comments will be answered in review replies. I adore your responses!**

**Next Chapter: Spinelli has a sunset in his veins.**


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